Margot rises, goes over to Jill. “I’ve gotta get going, sweetie, but call me later tonight. And, please, let us know the second you hear anything.”
They hug and Margot makes her way out the front door. Her sudden departure feels abrupt, but it doesn’t seem to faze Jill, and I’m itching to get out of here, too, so I take advantage of the moment and stand up.
“I’ve gotta run as well,” I say and lean down to Jill to give her a quick hug. She ropes an arm around my neck and rubs my back like she’s trying to soothe me; my heart crumbles for her grief-ridden awkwardness.
—
OUTSIDE, I SITin my steamy SUV for a few minutes before starting the engine. I watch Margot fade smaller and smaller down the sidewalk as she walks toward home. But not so small that I don’t see her sliding her cell from her bag. I don’t even need to guess at what she’s doing. The mounting unease in my gut tells me that she’s callingBrad.
40
I’VE BEEN HOMEfrom Callie’s for over an hour. I should be folding laundry, prepping dinner, but I’m back online, looking for Abby.
I’m sipping a strong cup of Earl Grey, hoping the pipe tobacco–flavored liquid will cut through my afternoon wine buzz. My fingers peck at the keyboard, wearing down the same online paths as earlier—theMapleton Times, Facebook—but to no avail. Nothing has changed since this morning.
I arrow the mouse to the top of the screen, close the browser, and am staring at my latest screensaver—a pink-hued photo of the New Mexico desert—when I hear a car door slam.
I hop up and head down the hallway. Peer out a window to see a black Mercedes parked out front and Margot making her way up the front steps. The doorbell chimes and I suck in a quick breath before opening it.
“Heeeey,” she says. She slides her sunglasses back on her head, leans toward me. She slips a hand around my neck, her lips grazing my cheek. Her skin smells intoxicating, and I have to stifle the urge to turn my face toward hers so that our lips meet. Before I can even react, she drops her hand, leans against the doorjamb.
“Wanna come inside?” My pulse pounds through my veins, and hot sheets of wind melt the air-conditioned chill inside the house.
“I’d love to,” she says, her eyes direct and level with mine. “But I can’t stay. Just needed to stop by.”
“Oh?” I ask, not sure of what to do with myself, so I cross my arms in front of me. Of course she didn’t come over here to make out with me, and given everything that’s going on, I’m repulsed by my desire. And it’s achingly obvious that her pull over me hasn’t dimmed one bit.
“Listen, if anybody asks you about Friday night,” she says, “just tell them I was with you.”
Now my pulse is pounding in my temples and I shift my weight between my feet. And as if she can sense my wariness, she quickly adds, “I’m sure they won’t, but if they do...”
She reaches down for my wrist, takes it in her hand. Heat rises along my arm as she holds it; her eyes are trained down at the ground between us, and an almost sheepish look spreads across her face.
“Look, I can’t have anyone finding out about me and Brad. No one needs to know. Especially Jed.” She locks her eyes onto mine. “Youunderstand, I’m sure.”
And she doesn’t even have to say Jamie’s name because it hangs in the air, suspended between us. A clear threat.
She drops my wrist, and before I can answer, her lips are on mine. A quick peck before she spins around and floats down the steps to her car. “Gotta run and grab the kiddos from school,” she calls over her shoulder, blowing an air-kiss my way.
Back inside, I slump against the entryway wall. My entire body is shaking; I don’t know what to do.
Of course I know what Ishoulddo, and that’s pick up my cell and call someone, tell them everything I know. But who would I tell? Graham? The police? And what would I say? “Hi, this is Sophie O’Neill. Last weekend I was at a spin-the-bottle party with two teenage boys and I read a text message I shouldn’t have.”
I pace to the kitchen to make a shot of espresso. I need something stronger than the tea, something to wake me up, something to help me think more clearly.
My hands clatter as I scoop the grinds from the silver tin, fill the basin with filtered water.
I need to get a grip. Maybe Tina is right, maybe Abby is just sorting things out. Maybe she’s just fine.
But why would Margot stop by to try and hush me unless she knows something? Something about Abby. Something bad.
As the espresso sputters into the bottom of a shot glass, Margot’s words creep back into my mind:No one needs to know.Youunderstand, I’m sure.
The thought of Graham finding out about Jamie makes me double over, grab the counter, and fight to catch my breath.
I don’t know what I’m going to do, but for now, I know that Margot is right: No one needs toknow.
41
